Bold and Blooded

by Andrew Wareham

  He mounted his charger – the sole villager to have a riding horse – and waved to the womenfolk, clustered around the back door. Then he turned his head to the road and the return to the comforts of the barracks.

  He forgot about the village and the quarry and the Slater family – they were behind him, part of his past. He wondered what orders had come through in the two nights he had been away, and whether the men in the company had got themselves into trouble having been paid. Then he laughed to himself – they would certainly have found trouble, he just hoped it was not too bad. He thought of Jonathan, and what he would do with money. The sergeant would have been alert to that problem, would surely have looked after the boy.

  He glanced back over his shoulder as he walked the horse up the highway.

  The Trained Band was up, every man in the village learning pike or pistol. When war came, they would march to join the forces opposed to the King, might well place themselves under his personal command. They would be green - able, hopefully, to perform the basic drill but slow and unwise in the ways of war. He would lose some of them; if they came to a battle too soon, he might lose them all. They were his responsibility, so it seemed.

  They would stand out in the ranks, still using the old speech, ‘thee’ and ‘thou’ unfailingly. He had fallen back into their ways easily enough, but others would not and might mock them. They could be a cause of trouble. He had discovered that Pastor Doddington had placed himself in their ranks, and he must be made corporal, despite knowing nothing of war. There would be trouble if he decided to refuse to march on the Sabbath.

  He started to chuckle as he reached the steep fall into the Welland Valley and the bridge that led into the small town. He was thinking like a soldier. A bare year and he was no longer in any way a villager. He was Red Man, the warrior who had killed deserters and Scots, the man who carried pistols and a sword and knew how to use them. He wondered when he would really become a man in his own mind, suspected that he might well wish to keep company with a woman to make that change in himself. That could wait, perhaps, because he was not at all sure how to go about such a procedure.

  Pacing into the barracks, saddlebags over his shoulder and a groom dealing with his charger, he wondered if he might not just broach the topic of ‘manliness’ with Captain Holdby. The captain knew everything.

  “A good couple of days, Red Man?”

  “I was glad to see my family, Captain. My father is dead, which I was truly happy to discover. I do not doubt that he is roasting in the deepest pit of Hell. He was a brutal man who enjoyed nothing more than to beat wife and children quite equally. My brother tells me he fell into the quarry a bare hour after I left. I felt it, impolitic, shall we say, to ask who pushed him.”

  “Best not known, Red Man. It sounds as if he was no loss.”

  “None at all, Captain. That apart, the village is as it was, except that all the men are practicing arms for two whole hours a week and believe themselves to be in the way of becoming soldiers.”

  “The poor innocents! Did you tell them?”

  “That our experienced men, most of whom have smelt powder, even if only fleetingly, still practice their drill three and four hours of every day? How could I say that to them? They think of themselves as soldiers who will go to fight for their righteous cause. God will be with them, and the just shall prevail.”

  “Poor little sods!”

  “Just so, Captain. Just so!”

  Captain Holdby sighed and enquired whether they had pledged themselves to march behind their village’s one martial soul.

  “They have, sir. My brother. His wife’s two, or perhaps three brothers. My neighbours. The pastor himself. The better part of a score of younger men from a village of perhaps two hundred, men, women and children. There will be none of the young and strong grown men left in the village when they go. And who is to say how many will come back from a single campaign?”

  “There will be more than one campaign if the war takes off, Red Man. Neither King nor Parliament will be easily defeated, and there may be foreigners who choose to join in, seeking a profit.”

  “Those of us who know what we are doing will not die as easily as the villagers who believe that the Lord rests on their shoulders, Captain.”

  “We shall not, Red Man. Some of us - the officers, that is – will be meeting with people of the town in the White Hart inn tomorrow evening. A discussion, you might say. Will you come along?”

  “Willingly, Captain. What has caused the people of the town to come together?”

  Captain Holdby shrugged, said that it was no single cause, more of a cumulation of events.

  “Parliament is sitting and has pledged itself to attain its goals on this occasion. They insist that their grievances must be attended to. Importantly, they have placed the villain and King’s advisor, Strafford to trial – and will not be content short of taking his head. The King will not protect him, despite having pledged to do so. The King is thus a traitor to his own people, a weak reed who is not to be relied upon. By giving Strafford’s head to Parliament – which he has effectively done - he has announced that he cannot or will not protect his own. Men will still support the King, but less happily than of yore. They will not give him unquestioning trust. Those who were wavering will look more towards Parliament now. That, I suspect, is why they are meeting – not through any great access of fervour for the cause, but for lack of faith in the King. They are stumbling into revolution, unwilling but seeing no alternative.”

  Micah sat towards the rear of the big chamber, quietly watching as the back room of the White Hart filled up. The townspeople who came in were without exception prosperous. They were tidily dressed in good woollens and wore strong boots or shoes.

  “Merchants and store-keepers, Red Man. One or two who own builder’s yards. Two who possess a dozen of wagons and teams of horses and have them carrying on the highways. One is an attorney-at-law, I know. These are the important people of the town. The mayor is not here, but several of the corporation are and will tell him what is said. Two of them sit on the Bench. None of the pastors and preachers – they do not rub shoulders with ranters even if they sit in their congregations. These are men who have the best interest of town and people at heart. And they have come here, knowing that we shall be talking treason, in the King’s eyes, that is. The very fact that the most reliable men of the town are here tells us that the King has lost the hearts of his people.”

  “Then, there must be war, must there not, Captain?”

  “Unless the King shall come to an agreement with Parliament, it cannot be avoided. He has pushed ordinary people too far and they will have no more of his foreign ways. The French may bow their necks and live as slaves – we shall not. Old England is the home of free men.”

  “What of our religion, Captain?”

  “It is important to many, I agree, Red Man, and it will lead otherwise honest men to side with the King. A pity!”

  They fell silent as one of the townsmen – fat and placid-seeming - rose ponderously to his feet and announced how pleased he was that so many of the officers of the garrison had found it possible to join them.

  There had been two companies in garrison before the pair from Colonel Knighton’s Regiment had joined them. An ancient major, a captain and three lieutenants had commanded them. Micah could see the three most junior as well as the lieutenant and ensign from their own second company. All, then, except the captain and the old major.

  “Westerham and Figgis have chosen not to come, Captain?”

  “Major Figgis is old, Red Man, and will do nothing at all if he can avoid it. He will resign his commission if he comes to believe that war is likely. Captain Westerham is related to some sort of noble family in Kent, he tells me – at length! He will ride for the King. If he learns of this meeting or others like it, he will report it, though who to, I know not.”

  “What of their men, Captain?”

  “Most have been in garrison here for ten years
and more. They have put down roots and will fight for neither side. You do not see them in the butts and rarely on the drill square. Ignore them unless their lieutenants choose to wake them up.”

  The townsman wheezily began to recite their grievances against the King – he had taxed them unlawfully and was making more demands upon them now to equip his enlarged army. He was still demanding Ship Money of them, though that had always been paid only by maritime counties and particularly those towns which traded along the coast, which Stamford did not. There were the problems of his religion as well, which the noble Scots had risen against.

  “Noble, Captain?”

  “He has never seen a Scot in his life. Ignore it!”

  Finally, there was the matter of Parliament. The House of Commons was sitting again and had pledged itself to demand a resolution of their grievances before any money would be voted for the King. The King was demanding his supply – his tax income – before he would consider any petitions from Parliament. The effect was to create the grounds for early conflict. They must in fact accept that civil war was now more likely than not. What did the good people of Stamford, now assembled, think they must do?

  The virtuous burgher flopped panting into his seat and waited a response

  “That is a call to arms, Captain. Even I can see that.”

  “It is, Red Man. I think I must say something.”

  He stood and waited a few seconds for the buzz of conversation to die and for faces to turn towards him.

  “My name is Captain Holdby of Colonel Knighton’s Regiment of Foot. I am acting as a major.”

  There was an outbreak of mutterings as they established that he was senior and must be listened to.

  “The Regiment was involved in the recent bickering in the North Country in which the King and his army took a humiliating defeat at the hands of the Scots. Some towns were sacked. Farmland was burned out immediately before harvest. Men and women and children died, some at the hands of the Scots, more of famine and fever. The King created this war, and he lost it through stupidity and bad policy. Now he is mustering many regiments at Nottingham, we are told.”

  They had heard that rumour and thought Stamford to be closer to Nottingham than they might like.

  “The King’s army could not defeat the Scots. They will be able to beat down dissent in the towns. The soldiers can – and will – beat and batter ordinary, unarmed men and women. If you are to remain within reason free, then you must arm yourselves and be ready to march to battle. Some of the army will join you. More will not. The officers are mostly King’s men – though a good minority of us are not. Many of the troopers and foot soldiers are recruited from the more distant areas of the country where the old religion is still strong. Do not believe that the whole country will rise against the King – there are some who will support him. Most will fight for the right, but they must learn how to fight first.”

  They did not like to hear that, much preferring to think that the mass of freeborn Englishmen would rise in indignation.

  Another rather large and cosseted gentleman rose to his feet as Captain Holdby sat. He signalled to the publican to provide him with a tankard.

  “Thirsty work, speaking, sir. I must thank you for your words – for your stark realism! If we are to fight – and you have convinced me that we ordinary folk must – then how are we to train our men?”

  It was clear that the gentleman expected someone else to do the hard labour.

  Captain Holdby stood again, reluctantly, for he was committing himself to treason. His words could hang him.

  “Get your men together, sir. Send to the Low Countries for matchlocks and pistols and swords. Pay the smiths of the town to forge pikeheads and the carpenters to fit them to shafts. Having armed your men, muster them every evening and I and some of my soldiers will drill them and turn them into fighting men. You must place yourself in arms, sir, ready to march when the call comes. Do this quickly, for the men must be trained before the war starts. It may be too late after.”

  They listened and wavered.

  Some did not like the idea of spending money; several were not at all keen to venture onto the field of battle, had no wish to become officers. A number had found it easy enough to talk treason but discovered it was a different thing to step forward and act. A few were frightened. The largest group of the unwilling simply did not wish to kill, were honest men of peace, and hoped there might be an alternative to bloodshed even yet.

  The oldest man in the room, or so it seemed to Micah, hauled himself to his feet, tottering, bald and skinny. He turned slowly towards the group of officers, singled out Captain Holdby.

  “Most officers, you say, will fight for His Majesty. Why will not you, sir?”

  “He is no King for a soldier – and I am simply that, sir. He raised an army but would not equip it. He led us to war and shied away from battle. He angered the Scots when he could have talked to them, and then he sought to confer with them when he had driven them to war against him. My soldiers died because he is irresolute. He cannot be trusted. I will go to war against him because he will not preserve our old liberties but is unwilling to give us strong government in exchange. I do not trust him when it comes to the preservation of our religion, our liberty, even our country. He will see the Scots as a sovereign nation and will allow the Irish free rein. He is a weakling.”

  “What of the Judas-haired young man at your side?”

  Micah jerked to his feet, all of his old resentment resurrected by the offensive term so freely used over the years by Pastor Doddington.

  “I will fight for my religion and the freedom of ordinary people, of whom I am one! Most officers claim to be of the gentry. I am not, but I have smelled powder and have killed my enemies.” He looked challengingly around the room. “I shall destroy my enemies again, wherever they may be found!”

  The old man chuckled, breaking the sudden tension.

  “I am too old to take to the field, young man. Otherwise I would follow you, fierce as you are. I have a little of money. I will pledge twenty pounds to the cause and to arming our gallant sons who will fight for our liberty. Who will match me?”

  There was a burst of noise, men talking to their neighbours and turning in their chairs to shout to their acquaintances in the room.

  Captain Holdby covered his mouth to hide his smile, whispered under the uproar.

  “Do ye hear them, Micah? ‘I will if you will’. Like little boys daring each other to be wicked.”

  Micah did not quite understand – little boys never had the opportunity to be wicked in Collyweston.

  The first, fat, speaker rose and succeeded in hushing the room.

  “Mr Parker has given us the lead. I will put my twenty pounds in the hat, next to his. Who will join us to arm our men?”

  Slowly, reluctantly, almost half of the men in the room rose to pledge themselves, most offering no more than five pounds.

  “A little more than a hundred pounds, Micah. They will have to be content with pikes and a dozen of shot, no more.”

  “They can make a company of fifty or sixty men, Captain. It will be of some use, if they can bring themselves to discipline.”

  “They must use their men to lay hands on the money they need, Red Man. There will be Royalists in their country houses who will have strongboxes that may be brought to the cause. As well, as soon as the war is upon us, they must march on their traitor neighbours.”

  “But…”

  “War is not won by half-measures, Red Man. I saw that in the Germanies. There is no certainty which way the town will fall. I doubt that one half of the biggest men in Stamford are here tonight. Some will call a plague upon both houses but many of them will join the King. Those who do must be burned out and the town made safe, or they will do the same to us.”

  It was a stark picture, clear in Micah’s mind. Towns and villages in flames and men at each other’s throats. He could imagine the villagers of Collyweston set at odds with each other; flames in
the thatch of the farmhouses and billowing from the windows of the slaters’ cottages. The old stone church would be smashed and the new wooden chapel burned down. There would be bodies – whole families - scattered in the roads.

  “Is there no alternative, Captain?”

  “Not now. It is too late. The time for talking has passed by and the men of war have taken the reins. The only choice now is to fight the war and be ruthless. The more of the King’s men we kill, the fewer to kill us. The days of blood are come upon us, Red Man, and only those of resolution and strength will survive them. There is no turning back now.”

  Micah could not be happy that he was to take a part in the bloodshed to come. He knew that he could not turn his face away from it short of taking horse to Bristol and boarding a ship there to sail far foreign. Even then, he suspected, the people of the little American colonies would be facing the same distress. There would be King’s men and Parliamentarians in Virginia, he suspected.

  “Then, Captain, if we are to fight, we must fight well. Will our companies follow us, do you think?”

  “Talk to them. Tell them where you stand, and why. They respect you – they follow the Red Man because he knows how to fight. Most will stand at your shoulder. Those who will not must be encouraged to go, to leave us. We do not wish to fight our own people. Make it clear to them that each man must listen to his own conscience, that he must hear the voice in the dark of the night that speaks to him alone.”

  Micah knew that voice. He had been hearing it frequently in late weeks.

  “It is hard, Captain. Far easier for the ordinary man to do as he is told by those he respects. To be one’s own man, alone in front of the eyes of God, that makes a great demand on the soul. It is necessary. The men will ask me my opinions, I doubt not. I shall tell them what I think and what I shall do before repeating that they must be easy in their own minds rather than simply follow my lead.”

  “We can do no less, Red Man. We must be honest with our own folk. I suspect as well, that we shall be sensible to call the local men to arms in our ranks. We can supply sergeants and corporals that would otherwise be lacking. I trust we shall muster more than we could find for the King.”